And Yet
by Slainteru
Summary: It is strange that they are here, stranger yet what they are doing. And yet.


**And Yet**

**And the windows and the cinders  
>And the willows in the timbers.<br>The infernal rattling of the rain  
>Still remains.<strong>

**"But I," said the bachelor to the bride,  
>"Am not waiting for tonight.<br>No, I, I will box your ears  
>And leave you here stripped bare,<br>Stripped bare." -The Decemberists**

**X**

As she backs you up into the wall, you cannot help but laugh a little. Of all the people in the world, she is the one who has her mouth pressed to yours. You cannot believe your luck – the one who most hurt you, was disgusted _by_ you, is now the one who, putting it mildly, is intriguing to you, and feels the same interest. She invited you into her apartment, _her room_, with clear intentions, and acted immediately upon them. You do not try to look at it as more than just one night, one _really_ fun night, because you half expect to wake up covered in sweat and breathing rapidly, thinking _wow, that was some dream._ The same way you've been waking since your senior year of high school, when this all began. However, this is as real as the wall, stone cold and beginning to rub raw the exposed skin of your back. Her hands are up your shirt, touching and caressing and rubbing and scratching, moving as though to memorize every curve and detail that your upper body has to offer.

You? You are almost copying her movements, but your aim is not to learn. What seems to be an age ago, it would have been, however now you aim to dominate, to conquer. Raw emotion threatens to break levies and create day-after expectations, and you absolutely cannot have that. Comfort is not an option, nor is solace. Silently, it is established: you must be the one in control. The marks you leave are not of passion; they are of ownership. The red lines that your fingers create on her back are a warning to the world: _this one is mine, so fuck off._ A complete and surreal awareness takes over your senses, making it impossible to lose yourself to the fabled throes of passion. On the contrary, you marvel at how her skin goosebumps as your fingers trail over it. You are mesmerized by the way her body curves into yours, in what seems to be a combined attempt to meld with you and escape your scratching – and judging from her moans, she does not mind the latter one bit.

Arousal gets the better of the both of you, and the wall fades away, becoming the floor. You are on top now, still in control. _Clothing,_ you think as you fumble with buttons that end up scattered on the floor,_ is not necessary_. A small part of you realizes, with a minute pang of something resembling regret, that her outfit must have cost a lot of money, but in that moment, her lips claim that sweet spot right above your collarbone. As she gently nibbles her way towards your earlobe, all thoughts of anything but sex leave your mind. Her nimble hands quickly disrobe you, bringing you to her same level. You are on top, but the both of you are now equally bared.

For a second, silence crushes you both.

For a second, her eyes sear into yours, burning holes through your protections, and acknowledge that yours are doing the same.

The moment breaks when she lifts her head, softly and gently brushing her lips against yours. Cupping your cheeks, she deepens the kiss as if to say, "Alright." You've got the green light. _Go._

You begin to tease her with the barest hint of friction, and absently wonder what it is you see in her. On first thought, you see yourself. She is you, but what you should have been, what you still aspire hopelessly to be. Smarter. Stronger. _Better._ The narcissism of the thought amuses you, and you grin against her lips. She punishes your mental absence with a bite to your lower lip, probably drawing blood. No, you decide. It is not because you see yourself in her; it is because you see the Nothing in her eyes. The very same Nothing that you see whenever you catch your reflection, be it in water, a window, or a mirror. She hides it well, and that may be due to the fact that she is not even aware of it. _Denial is an approach that never works_. Inside her eyes, despite her deeds and her values, there is Nothing. Does that scare you? Your finger becomes a pen, and writes with invisible ink a book upon her lithe body.

Sick of your teasing and non-committal movements, she growls and initiates the penultimate step of this process. Smooth hips jerk into you, and her nails dig into your shoulder blades as she attempts to drag you closer. Where release is concerned, the virtue of patience may as well be sin. Her rough movements tell you what you already know: _we are not making love; we are fucking – nothing more. _With determination-hardened eyes, you slowly enter her, drawing out the tease. However, she's tight and you are only human.

Fucking her, you meditate on the fact that she is a puzzle. Everyone is a puzzle, even you, and though her pieces do not normally fit yours, the both of you are almost similar in puzzlement. You respond to her aggressiveness in kind, pushing in again with what you know to be too much, too quickly. The gasp of pain-mixed-pleasure satisfies you, and after a few minutes of establishing your dominance, you have mercy, giving her something she can manage. A moan is your reward, and you focus on giving her a fuck worth bragging about. You do not feel her hands as they manipulate you, not until she is close. Something that you have always felt pride for is your ability to turn on and off by command. You realize, with something akin to a sinking feeling, that she has not managed to override that ability. Entertaining as the night has turned out to be, this is not an event that you will remember during times of self-satisfaction. Oh, you will brag about her performance, her receptiveness to your touch, but in the end, she will be exactly like the rest. That she has the Nothing will not matter; it is merely a fortunate coincidence, helpful with connecting on some level. _Though you really wish that she could override your sensibilities..._

She hisses slurred words that sound like your name before convulsing and writhing. Your attention is diverted to her, beautiful in her moment of absolute abandon. The way her forehead wrinkles when her eyes close is oddly bewitching, and the soft O of her mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure is mesmerizing. You feel the familiar tug of warmth spread through your body, and as you float over the edge, you make sure that you moan. Her name tumbles out, the most natural and yet the strangest thing in the world. The feeling washes over you like an evening shower, and as you both lie there, satisfied to some extent, a hint of regret taints your post orgasm tenderness. _Why,_ you ask, _when this was just fucking - could it be that you had hoped that, as she had Nothing and you had Nothing, it could lead to Something_? She sighed your name as she came down from her peak, a tired yet sated smile gracing her face. It doesn't matter much; the sun will rise with or without her. However, disappointment does make the act bittersweet. You were hoping...

Absently, you note that the two of you are on her bed. You would wonder how and when that happened, but for now you are content to fall asleep. For some odd reason, she curls into you. Eyelids heavy, you think nothing of it except that she is warm and smells wonderful.

X

The morning hits you like truck. As you open tired eyes, the sunlight shining through a window on your left attacks you, piercing your retinas in a hostile act of war. Wincing silently, you peer over your shoulder. She is absent; the only indication of her presence is the indent from her head upon the pillow and the phantom scent that is uniquely hers. You look down and move slowly, under the impression that to move fast would give the sun an advantage over your poor, suffering eyes. Once you are sitting up, you straighten, and notice her in the doorway. A faded T-shirt and gym shorts cover most of your markings. Her hair is in a towel, and you wonder if you imagine the scent of gardenias. She tells you that she has coffee being ground, and has made a fruit salad, if you would like to stay for breakfast? Cereal and toast are offered as well. You open and close your mouth in surprise: _this never happens. _Yet here she is, slightly smiling as she leans against the doorframe and offering you breakfast as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

She smiles at you with both her lips and eyes, telling you that she will let you wake up more before asking you again, and goes to presumably put the towel away. Now aware of it, you can detect the Colombian roast as well as the scent of fresh pastry. On a whim, you decide that maybe, just for today, you will stay under the covers. Maybe, just for today, you can allow yourself the comfort of morning chatter.

Letting your guard down is easier than you think, and soon you find yourself smiling over a small –_but funny nonetheless – _anecdote that she throws your way. Engaging in conversation is easier than you think, and soon you find her number in your hand, as well as an invitation for a movie, or a dinner, or hell, even coffee if you so feel up to it. _Another round_ is her subtext, and you find yourself not caring about reading between the lines this time. The comfort is a welcome change from your solitude, and you welcome it with open arms. To the both of you, it does not matter that this entire affair is illicit; it has been that way for quite some time, since the slushies, the boyfriends, and the songs. This is true comfort, security, and a brutal honesty that you have both gone long without, and need, as one requires oxygen.

The amusement begins when you both realize that, in this present less-than-ideal situation, you are more perfect for one another than a perfect situation would allow. You've both changed in such fundamental ways, yet the familiar quirks have ingrained themselves into the New Yous. A relationship could set sail from this point, at first revolving around casual encounter after casual encounter. It could progress, heavens knows you're already emotionally tied, her faults known and vice versa. It could crash and burn in explosive fights and pain, should you both decide to reject the harmonies you add to the other's melody. For now, neither of you worry. The future is a faraway monster, to be dealt with when it comes to blow down your home made of masks. For now, you are both content to bask in each other's presence, and love without the tiresome work of actually loving.

X

**If you were entertained, please review. If you found fault, please review with constructive criticism. This is my first Gleefic, and I'm nervous because there are so many amazing Faberry tales already. Expectations may have been set xD**


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